


The Unimaginable

by cattlaydee



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Gen, I honestly don't even know, Mention of Character Death, Nostalgia, Past Character Death, so hopefully you all enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after Phillips death, close to the anniversary of Washington's death, Alexander stops in for a visit at Mt. Vernon on his way back from business in the Capital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unimaginable

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably OOC for AHam IRL, but I would imagine losing his firstborn would change him. Especially since, from what I remember, it has been remarked he was never the same after Phillip died, which I would think is understandable. I used the actual date of Phillips death (Nov 23, 1801), as it fit better with what I wanted, year wise.

It was early afternoon as the carriage made it's way around the entry way to Mt. Vernon, the sun glinting off its drawn windows, and came to a rest close to the paddocks. A man exited, a heavy coat upon his shoulders, hunched over slightly as he curled in for warmth, heading to the front door. 

The house slave opened the door and her eyes went wide at first, giving way to a welcoming smile. 

"Mr. Hamilton, sir. How unexpected. I'll tell the missus you're here."

He stood outside on the stoop in the cold, fingers running over and over the brim of his hat as he let himself sway. The wool coat on his back was thick, and he was warm for the most part, so he wasn't sure why he fidgeted but credited it to some kind of nervous energy. He had not been here in almost an entire year.

The door opened, revealing the widowed matriarch of Mt. Vernon, her white hair tied tightly back in a bun, her housecoat over her torso.

"Alexander Hamilton. Well, aren't you a sight. Get in here before you catch your death."

She turned and walked into the home and he followed, a smile somehow finding it's way to his lips. The Washington's had both doted on him in his youth-more than he had preferred at the time, but in light of recent events...

He shook his head, not wanting to distract himself from the company he now found himself in. He followed the house slave inside and let her close the door behind him, letting her take his hat but not his coat. Once Martha returned, his expression softened.

"I imagine you will insist I stay for supper, and the night, but I was curious...if I may trouble you for your time, may I have a visit with him, ma'am?"

Her face almost seemed to fall, to be in sudden pain but then gave way to great relief, and warmth. "Of course, Mr. Hamilton. You know your way, sir?"

He merely nodded his assent, and she smiled once more before rounding up the staircase and heading towards her room. She called for him to not take long, that supper would be served within the next hour or so, but he could not imagine he would need so long, especially with the cold. 

He made his way out the kitchen by direction of the house slaves and headed toward the courtyard in which a giant fortress seemed to reside.

Snow fell lightly, but it was not too bitter cold, he thanked his stars. His had been a last minute decision, a need he recognized in his anguish while briefly away from New York.

He found himself standing in front of the tomb, wooded slats of the rounded door sheltering the stone sarcophagus wherein his late mentor rest. He scuffed his boots on the slab of rock under his feet, thoughts racing through his mind. Clasping his hands behind his back, his fidgeting quelled.

"You used to frustrate me so. I was bursting at the seams to be greater than my station and I constantly felt like you held me back at an exceptional effort. I never understood..." He trailed off, shaking his head. 

"Your affection stifled me. I felt as if doted upon, I would become less worthy in the eyes of the others, that I had not earned such elevation of status on my own..." He sighed, trailing off with a shake of his. "I imagine....I imagine you realized that. You used to look at me so knowingly at times. After our first real quarrel even..." He faded off. "You apologized first. Tried to woo me back in your services." He managed a painful smile. "Even then you understood the conflict inside of my soul, I think, looking back."

Maybe he was wrong of his promise to Martha, he mused as the sun began to set behind the brick that surrounded him as a fortress. He could not think of being quite done with _His_ Excellency. So much to say, for so much that he had done, for so many lessons he should've or could've learned.

_Phillip_

"I suppose I should just come out with it, as neither of us are going anywhere," He smirked softly, remembering the moment over 2 decades previous upon a mansion's stairwell. "You always tried to draw comparisons to our experiences, and I caused such a divide at the time but now..." He shook his head, palming the side of his face. "He came to me in such a spirit, Your Excellency, and I just felt _so_ strongly to support him, longing to ensure he kept a level head, lest his lively approach end him. I wanted him to be **safe** , and I was so sure of another man's honor, I should have been more cautious." He swallowed a sob, letting his hand find the steel gate of the tomb, curling around it's posts. "Oh, Your Excellency, _my _boy has expired."__

He let out a heavy sigh, obscuring his mouth with his other roughed hand. "I would've have done well to pay heed to your lessons and learned to temper myself, to have set a better example, a less explosive one, for my children. Mayhap, I'd have saved him from his dire fate."

"I find myself so bereaved, sir, to be without you in this time. During my career I found your repeated attempts at mentor ship frustrating, but it appears you were providing for me even if I did not allow myself to realize it, a truth that has only become apparent in your absence. Now, wherein I find myself the most trying of times, I realize my requirement of a type of behest. My _son_..." He wiped his hand over his face. "I cannot shake this torment, it is unlike any tragedy I have felt befall myself and I need your unwavering sensibility to aid me in making it through. I have tried to relieve myself of these thoughts previously, but have found myself without the closeness of true friendship outside of my most beloved wife, and she is so lost herself, I feel I cannot burden her further."

The wind howled through the surrounding trees, but of course, of no word came Washington's advice. Hamilton ached inside, reminiscing on their past interactions, on his own head strong nature and almost petulant approach whilst staunchly requesting a command deep in his youth. He could remember clearly the General's gaze, the raw vulnerable truths that had lain within that placid expression, those that he had imprudently interpreted as ones of disappointment or uncertainty, being so unable to believe the General could empathize with himself in the least.

Now, however, recalling his last discussion with his son, he seemed to glean what the General must have been familiar with. The wisdom of a later life contrasting with the memory of foolhardy youth was one that took your breath away, understanding the reason for behavior in both instances but also thinking how those other selves would've had handled it. Wisdom could be such a burden, as much as something that could aid others in decent judgement. It was as if he, in this moment, was transported back 20 years earlier to remember the glorious day of his youth, standing indignantly at Washington's tent opening, defiantly gazing at the man who, in truth, just knew Alexander Hamilton wasn't quite there yet.

Perhaps, had he been able to temper the instigation with George Eacker, had he had some sense of what to impart to diffuse the situation, to advise more sensibly, his son would still stand on his own two legs. 

Closing his eyes in the early dusk, he let his weight rest against the iron door guarding the tomb, wincing as his heart tightened in his chest. He son had, regrettably, in his estimation, inherited too much of himself. And looking now upon Washington's tomb, he could only conjure the man's peaceful, overwhelmingly patient expression and knew- _he knew!_ -that the General would have been ready to give him any sort of guidance he would have been in need of, in any time, in his most sage and understated manner. After all, he had definitely raised Martha's children.

There was something intrinsically calming about being next to the man who had kept him alive and successful until his mid 40s. As remiss as he may be to acknowledge anyone else in his success outside of his most best of wives, it would be Washington, a patron that had stood by him, who supported his proposals with every effort, even when he was at his most abrasive. 

He thought back to Philip, _his_ boy, and oh god, he cannot even think of never seeing his face again even though it has already been over a month.

"I know i will never hear your counsel ever again, sir, but somehow I find comfort in your presence." He sighed deeply, drawing back. "I can imagine your words. To persevere. To grieve, but to honor. That Philip would need to be remembered. You would scold me about that above anything else. To make sure it had meant something." He shook his head lightly, pursing his lips. "That it was not a fault of mine, whether that be truth or fiction."

He laughed roughly against the cold. "You were always so insufferable, urging me to do that which I begrudged greatly. And now..." He shook his head. "I have 6 other bairns, and one on the way which shall be his namesake if a boy, but I cannot seem..."

He let his voice fade off as words escaped him, a plight that he had ever rarely experienced. But to capture the depths of what he truly felt, losing a _child_ , he didn't think there was a word for such a devastating experience. 

And Alexander Hamilton knew a lot of words.

_"With 7 little ones, I would admit, it seems you do not have a choice, for the sake of your honor."_

He stiffened, the soft words coming from his own mind but in a distinctly different tone. Within moments, he questioned whether he'd even heard them at all. 

The sun had now begun it's rapid descent below the horizon, the waning tips of light filtering in between the iron gate but Alexander felt almost warmer, and lighter. He stood in silence with the tomb for a few moments, communing silently with himself before clearing his throat. He rubbed his hands together and sighed, drawing himself up straighter.

"I appreciate your listening to my incessant rantings the past 20 years. I do not wholly exaggerate when I say I long for the simplicity of which I once thought was the maddest of times." He smiled tightly. "Your Excellency, I will, with affection and respect always, remain in your debt, as your most obedient servant."

He bowed softly, holding it for just a half second longer than normal, then straightened to collect himself. 

"Goodbye, General."

He made his way back to the main house, the dying light of the day behind him, spiking in it's brilliance before fading fully below the horizon, leaving the courtyard in darkness.

Inside, the fireplace roared.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot more with Martha (because thanks to Mira Jade's "from them souls unresting grow" i now want more Martha & Alex buddy fics), but that may be something I publish as a sequel, it just didn't flow well with what I wanted this to be.


End file.
